


Hopes

by kikibug13



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Genre: Babies, Children, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 19:33:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikibug13/pseuds/kikibug13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They love each other, they marry, they have a son... but who will he take after?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hopes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itsrayning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsrayning/gifts).



> Have a very merry Christmas!
> 
> Many thanks to my beta!

_Some days,_ Mrs. Potts thought as she watched her lord and master pace the hallway and try to tear his hair out with great determination, _it almost seems that it might be better if people did not read quite so much._

She knew that the thought was wildly imprecise, but - he had come such a long way from the beast who prowled the castle premises and scared anyone, enchanted or not, and tonight, fear (not pride) had reduced him to nearly the same. She had tried to tell him that, whatever his books and other printed... _things_ said, not _that_ many women did die of childbirth. It was a vain and empty effort, he merely glared, his eyes burning no less than when he wore a different face, then resumed his pacing. Not even the old and useful trick of sending him to chop wood outside in the biting chill worked. That one got her a grunt.

So she shook her head and went on to make him tea, hoping the poor cup she chose might not end up hurled to chips in his anxious frustration. Tea for him, and tea for the women around Belle, her Master's sweet bride. Well. Bride nearly two years ago, which was proper. Life went on. 

They all expected a boy, the Prince's heir, perhaps one day to be King, if the fate decided so and the Prince continued to earn the King's favor. Of course, she he choose not to become like his _father_ had been before Belle entered his life. Nobody ever said that out loud, but they did consider the possibility, Mrs. Potts was keenly aware as Lumiere's eyes followed her sharply, then he nodded at her. She barely abstained from rolling her eyes. 

It was a _baby_ , for mercy's sake. The only reason the Prince had become the Beast was because nobody had paid _attention_ when he came out of hand, his parents too busy and then... gone, and none of the castle staff either close enough or bold enough to stop him or even make sure he was facing any of the consequences of his behavior. Now, there was a _family_ , one that would not let the baby boy or girl reach such depths. Mrs. Potts was going to make sure of that, herself, and she had fine experience with raising children, if she did say so, herself. If only to Marie as she was helping in the kitchen. 

The frail cry came in the small hours of the morning, when only sheer stubbornness and a well-placed belief that he should be at his wife's side was keeping the new father upright. It was a boy, indeed, and the Prince's face _shone_ as he held his son, his hand reaching to grasp Belle's (warm, alive) palm in what he probably thought was a surreptitious manner. 

"He looks so... tiny."

Belle's tired brow eyes rose to his, smiling. "I believe we all do, in the very beginning."

"I'm afraid I'll hurt him."

"You won't. You should hold your son, and even if you were still as when I met you, he'd still be in your arms, now."

"Belle! It would not... if I were still a beast, this wouldn't have happened!"

The baby fussed, with the change in his voice, the sudden tension, and the Prince's face took on a panicked look.

"Calm down," Belle said, quickly and with a faint smile. "We are here, and what happened, happened. I love you."

Between the effect of her words and just hearing his mother's voice, the newborn settled again. Though the Prince handed him back to his mother soon enough. Without moving away. 

His "I love you, too" was quiet, only to Belle. All in the room who listened heard it, anyway.

The questions remained, of course. But not even Cogsworth could remain worried in the face of pure joy as what shone from their master's eyes, the tenderness with which he surrounded his family - _his_ family. It would all work out, there was always a way, and always would be.

 

Little Christian, to the relief of no small number of adults, had very little in terms of temper. He was a bit quiet, if anything, but it was the kind of silence where he suggested contemplation, rather than vacancy. He was a healthy, handsome boy, and by the time he started toddling around, the suppressed wariness had turned into doting of the child, into hopes for him as hadn't been seen since Belle herself had first showed up. 

Of course, there were hints that all may not be quite as perfect and straightforward as all that. For example, there was that one time the little prince gave his nannies and parents a fright by disappearing. He was eventually found, of all places, with his grandfather, a nearly identical content look on both their faces as the inventor was introducing his youngest relative to a portion of a realm that had, heretofore, been his province alone. It seemed that Maurice's solitary days were coming to a close, and he looked like the opposite of dissatisfied with the situation. 

Christian was a quick learner, too, once he had discovered what he was interested in. He had a gift for it, too, wiggling to his grandfather's side almost as soon as the watchful ladies would turn their eyes from him for a moment. But, unlike his grandfather, the things he started to come up with were more or less useful. And less prone to explosions, as a rule. 

There might have been somebody else's involvement, in that. His best friend's.

One day, a slow walk with the horses had flushed out a small, dark-skinned child, trying to live off the land in the forest. He was clearly not used to _this_ climate, however, and his attempts to prove otherwise had left him visibly starved. He was about a year younger than her own Chip, and there was not a single soul in the castle who wanted to do ill by the little boy.

He was strange, odd, even, and he spoke a tongue that sounded strange, if musical, and nobody could understand him. They talked with him snatched shared words, but mostly by gestures and grimaces. 

Eventually, they learned that his name was Sayid, and, slowly, as he learned their tongue, he wove a story of children kidnapped from their homes (weaker, more open homes) back where he came from. Of a friend sacrificing himself for Sayid to break free, and of running over the winter-frozen ground. Mrs. Potts was not sure she believed him about all - if not most - of his story, but she had to admit he was very skilled with his hands, and was not shy about putting them to good use, so long as there was a warm fire and enough food at the end of the day. 

It was never made formal, because who would question them, but the Lord and Lady of the castle took the boy in, and gave him of the warmth and caring they'd found between them, the love they never refused their children. When they found him, their daughter was but a babe. Belle did not think that turning the boy away was an option, and the prince-her-husband agreed. With a smile soft enough to melt the hearts of those who'd known him before the spell.

So it was Sayid that managed to get the young prince to focus on improvements for the work of those around him, rather than useless, cobbled-together devices that people were afraid to touch, let alone use, the way Belle's father usually did. The two of them, the fair head and the dark, were often seen bent together over something they were working on at the same time. It was a good thing, Mrs. Potts thought. Except for the complete lack of interest, of the princely concern variety, in the way their kingdom was run. He did not want to be taken away from his hours playing with inventing new toys. 

_That_ came from an unexpected direction. Christian was almost ten years old, and his sister Marguerite was all of three when she stood up, fists on her waist, and announced, "Maman, Papa. One day, when I grow up, I am going to be _the_ Queen! And there is nothing anyone can do to stop this."

"But, my dear," Belle answered after her start. "The kingdom does have a queen."

"After her. Or later. Is that not what princesses do? Become queens?"

"If they marry a king..."

"Oh, no. I don't want to marry the king. I'll marry Chip, instead."

It would have been precious if she hadn't been quite serious. Her mother's charm and her father's temper? 

Mrs. Potts sighed, reassuring her youngest son that nothing bad was going to happen, and thought that maybe, just maybe, _this_ little girl was going to be big trouble.


End file.
